


Something Brighter (+ art)

by chamyl, ingafterdark (ingthing)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Art, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comfort Sex, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Digital Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Illustrations, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, M/M, Making Love, NSFW Art, Porn with Feelings, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Romance, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Smut, Tenderness, Thighs, Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25691260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingthing/pseuds/ingafterdark
Summary: Aziraphale breathes in under his fingers, gives a soft moan when Crowley’s hands sneak inside his open shirt. He begins to relax in his arms, little by little, letting his head loll back, leaning more and more onto the demon behind him.Yes. Lean on me. I will take care of everything for you. I will take care of you.The only good angel in Creation. His angel, the one being that fits perfectly alongside him. The one fixed star in his universe, his centre of gravity.☀️Crowley has his own way to distract Aziraphale from his melancholy thoughts.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 365
Collections: Top Crowley Library





	Something Brighter (+ art)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a little wild, we worked on this _last year_ for the Flaming Like Anything zine and now we're allowed to post it! What a bizarre feeling. 
> 
> I fell in love with [Ing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingthing/pseuds/ingafterdark)'s illustrations and how soft and realistic everything looks. Not to be awkward af but I wish more porn looked like this! I really think we made a good thing :)
> 
> 💥 BEWARE, NSFW ILLUSTRATIONS AHEAD 💥

ometimes, it’s not just about love. Sometimes, it’s not just about lust either.

Sometimes, it’s about something else, something that encompasses love and lust and lands beyond both.

Crowley holds his breath as he watches Aziraphale through the open door of their bedroom.

The angel is sitting on their bed, legs crossed, back turned to the demon. His snowy wings are out and slightly curled around himself. His gaze is turned to the window, even though the white curtains are closed. The morning light is filtering through, clear and warm; it lands squarely on Aziraphale’s face and knees, on his tartan pyjamas, on their bed. From where Crowley’s standing, Aziraphale’s hair and wings look alight with white fire.

Aziraphale is breathing in and out slowly, dust particles dancing around him in the brightness.

The village’s church bells ring in the distance. It’s unusual for the angel to still be in bed at this time of day – but Crowley gets it. Aziraphale is mourning.

Crowley has experienced a similar pain first-hand – the acute sense of loss, the breaking of a bond that was meant to last forever. The blind despair and the knowledge, deep in his bones, that there will be no forgiveness.

It’s not exactly the same for Aziraphale, of course – he’s still an angel, after all. But in choosing to be on the side of the humans, on the same side as Crowley, he has lost his affiliation, his family, his identity. He gained more than he lost, and it was a sacrifice he gladly made, but it was a loss all the same.

Aziraphale is happy here. Crowley knows he is. But, as the demon very well knows, you can miss places you don't ever want to go back to. You can miss people who’ve hurt you, even though you never want to see them again.

Crowley inhales, and Aziraphale turns to him. As soon as the angel realises he’s not alone, his pensive expression melts into the most luminous smile, his melancholy seemingly lifting on sight.

“Dearest,” he calls him, his sea-green eyes sparkling bright over his shoulder.

Crowley suddenly remembers the tea he’d come to bring Aziraphale, a small excuse for this intrusion. He drags a long, nervous thumb along the cup’s ceramic wings, a pale imitation of the magnificent ones on his angel’s back. He leaves the drink on the bedside table and runs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, idly thanking himself for not getting out of his boxers and tank top yet so he can easily climb back into bed with his angel.

Quietly, carefully, he sits behind Aziraphale, wrapping his arms tightly around his lover’s waist.

His nose sinks into his soft feathers. Aziraphale smells like sleep, Marseille soap, and that peculiar vanilla-sweet scent really old books tend to have.

Their relationship is both old as time and completely new. A revolution that happened little by little and then all at once, and they’re still treading on unexplored ground, but some things stayed the same. They have a long-standing tradition of never talking about their feelings. Fortunately, they also have a long-standing tradition of doing their very best to help one another in times of trouble.

Crowley presses a kiss to Aziraphale’s nape, exactly in the centre.

It’s not all about love and it’s not all about lust, sometimes. It’s comfort. It’s intimacy. It’s an offering.

Crowley loves Aziraphale, there’s no doubt about it. He’s loved him with his charred black heart from the moment his snake eyes landed on him. And, of course, Crowley _wants_ him. He has never wanted anyone but him. It never made sense to want at all, if it wasn’t him.

But it’s much more than that.

He runs his fingers along the elegant arch of Aziraphale’s wing and unleashes a meteor shower of slow, small kisses along the side of his neck.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale sighs.

The demon feels his heart constrict with all the love Aziraphale pours into that single name. His name – not just any name, but the name Crowley chose for himself.

His arms under Aziraphale’s wings, he begins unbuttoning the angel’s shirt. They don’t talk about their feelings, so he closes his eyes instead, tries to think the words as loudly as he possibly can. _Let me. Let me fill the void for you. Take everything you want. It’s all yours anyway, angel, take it. It’s always been yours._

Aziraphale breathes in under his fingers, gives a soft moan when Crowley’s hands sneak inside his open shirt. He begins to relax in his arms, little by little, letting his head loll back, leaning more and more onto the demon behind him. _Yes. Lean on me. I will take care of everything for you. I will take care of you._

The only good angel in Creation. His angel, the one being that fits perfectly alongside him. The one fixed star in his universe, his centre of gravity.

Aziraphale’s wings blink out of existence as Crowley slides his pyjama shirt off his shoulders. He gives an appreciative hum against newly bared skin as his hands reach more of him. The angel’s body is soft and smooth, sensitive to the touch and generous in his palms, and Crowley will worship every blessed inch of it whenever he’s given the chance.

Crowley pulls back to guide Aziraphale down onto their plush duvet. He leans over his angel to give him a silly, tender upside-down kiss, earning a soft giggle from Aziraphale that makes him grin in return.

When Crowley sits back, he can truly admire the expanse of Aziraphale’s chest against the bedsheets, champagne-pink cloud over forget-me-not blue. The demon has been a friend to many artists throughout history – mad, sad, hilarious bastards – but none of them, not even the most gifted, could have painted such a breathtaking picture.

With a thought, he vanishes the rest of Aziraphale’s clothing – honestly, tartan is a crime against the arts – and kisses the angel’s quiet, surprised sound from his lips.

Much as he wishes it unnecessary, getting Aziraphale out of his head is one of Crowley’s favourite things to do. He thinks he’s quite good at it, if he may say so himself. Besides, there is absolutely nothing like seeing Aziraphale smile and knowing it’s because of him.

True to his nature, the serpent slithers down the angel’s body, enjoying all of Aziraphale’s little yelps and moans as he nips at a collarbone, flicks his forked tongue over a nipple, sinks his teeth lightly into his yielding side. He elects to take his time once he’s reached Aziraphale’s thighs, digging his long, bony fingers into the supple flesh. He clamps his lips an inch below Aziraphale’s hip bone, sucking in a lovely purple mark. A little gift for his angel to admire later – something Crowley knows Aziraphale will enjoy finding.

The wet trail he mouthed down the angel's stomach leads Crowley’s lips to Aziraphale’s hardening cock, but he decides to avoid it in favour of his sensitive thighs. The angel murmurs something soft and breathy and his shaky hands reach up to cling to Crowley.

A hand on each of Aziraphale’s legs, Crowley presses them close together and dips his snake tongue between the angel’s inner thighs, burying his face into the soft gap. Aziraphale whimpers, trembles, grasps at the hem of the demon’s shirt when Crowley shows no signs of stopping. Crowley gives it his best, licking and nipping and mouthing at the now wet skin, and he grins when he feels the angel’s cock poking him in the throat, completely hard. _That’s it. Focus on me, nothing else matters right now._

As much as he’s tempted to take Aziraphale into his mouth and ruin him with his infamous tongue, today is not the day. Today, he wants their bodies pressed close together. Today, Aziraphale will feel all of him, and something about the way the angel is clinging to him – one hand on his bare thigh, one hand on the small of his back – tells Crowley he needs this. They both do.

So he sits up instead, shifts to sit at Aziraphale’s side and looks down at him. The angel is panting, his cheeks are pink, the flush spreads all the way down his neck. His eyes are half-lidded, his lips are parted, and a hand, on the demon’s thigh, tugs at the hem of Crowley’s black underwear. Aziraphale is painfully beautiful like this – undone, vulnerable, soft, and hungry.

The angel’s eyes linger over Crowley’s knees, rise to his bare collarbones, come up to his face. When their eyes meet, Crowley is shocked to see his own feelings mirrored in Aziraphale’s gaze. It’s so fond and eager that Crowley doesn’t need to hear him say he’s beautiful aloud.

For so long they’ve had to steal glances and quickly turn away. Not anymore. Now Aziraphale can look at him until he’s taken his fill, so he does. With love, with relief.

Now that they’re free, Aziraphale loves him, open and unguarded. Aziraphale loves him as if he couldn’t help but love him. He loves Crowley as if it’s obvious that he’d love him, as if it’s what Crowley has always deserved – to be loved, unfalteringly, wholeheartedly. Aziraphale seems so sure of this he’s starting to convince Crowley of it too.

And, while the demon has yet to get used to the scorching intensity of this love, it’s such sweet torture he doesn’t mind getting burned.

That blue-green gaze, so full of feeling, steals the air out of Crowley’s lungs and he has to lunge down and take it back from Aziraphale’s lips, immediately, before his heart can beat out of his chest. He kisses into the angel’s mouth, groaning in pleasure at the warmth, the wetness, the softness of him.

When he can’t take it anymore, his cock aching in his boxer briefs, Crowley straddles the angel’s hips, sits up, spreads his palms against Aziraphale’s chest. One tank top strap slides down his shoulder and he watches Aziraphale’s gaze follow it with a gentle bite of his lower lip. Crowley shivers again, seeing how much his angel wants him. Lust, love. Above and beyond.

“What’s it going to be today?” Crowley asks, his voice surprisingly gravelly to his own ears. With a tilt and press of his hips, he makes his meaning clear. Aziraphale’s hard cock pulses against the demon’s backside through the thin fabric of his underwear.

Aziraphale gasps, lets out a soft, obscene moan that has Crowley almost losing his mind already.

The angel closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath. “I would rather… the other way around, if you don’t mind.”

“If I don’t mind?” Crowley barks out a short laugh. “When have I ever minded, angel?”

Aziraphale smiles back at him, eyes sparkling with happiness and just a little mischief. “Well, it’s only polite to ask.”

Crowley is still snickering as he gets off of him, allowing Aziraphale to turn around. Once the angel is lying on his stomach, Crowley does away with his own clothes and presses the whole length of his body against Aziraphale’s. They both sigh at the contact, in unison. He’s about to sneak a hand between their bodies to prepare the angel for his cock, but—

“Now, Crowley. Please,” Aziraphale mutters into the duvet. “ _Please_. I’m ready.”

Crowley blinks a few times, but there’s something about the way the angel says it – his low voice, the double _please_ – that speaks of need. And Crowley will do all that is in his power to satisfy every need of Aziraphale’s. He doesn’t have to be asked twice.

He takes his own cock into his hand, gives it a perfunctory stroke, and slowly begins to sink in, Aziraphale’s body open and slick for him through the use of a judicious miracle.

Every time, this happens, and every time he’s astonished by it: in these moments, Crowley’s world falls out from under him. There’s only Aziraphale, Aziraphale, _Aziraphale,_ the smell of his skin, the sounds he makes, the feeling of his body against and around him, taking him, needing him. God, how he _loves_ that Aziraphale needs him.

Time doesn’t exist. Nothing else exists.

Crowley reaches around, presses his open palm against Aziraphale’s chest. Pulls him back onto his cock, making Aziraphale arch his back and moan. His other hand he uses to grip the angel’s side, so that he can piston his hips the way he knows Aziraphale adores. As for him, well – he likes it all. He enjoys it all. He takes pleasure in giving pleasure, surely the most _undemonic_ of all sexual persuasions.

He starts slow and smooth but quickly, too quickly, the need overwhelms him. Aziraphale has melted under his touch, his delicious groans getting louder and more urgent by the second, and Crowley has to – he _has to_ pull them both back, raise them together until they’re both standing on their knees.

He holds Aziraphale close to him, their bodies pressed together, his arms encircling the angel’s chest, Crowley’s hands over his lover’s heart as he keeps sliding in and out of his body – long, deep thrusts, and he buries his face against the side of his neck, then his jaw, to nip it, then further still to kiss his soft cheek.

Aziraphale’s trembling hands come up to twine with Crowley’s on his chest, and – it’s bliss, simple as that. Complete and utter bliss, like nothing Crowley has ever experienced before.

He looks down and sees Aziraphale’s cock bouncing with each thrust – the way it stands, leaking, he’s so close already. Crowley frees a hand to reach down and close his fingers around it, beginning to pump.

He gives it all he’s got, his muscles straining with effort, his hand moving furiously over Aziraphale’s cock, just a little roughly as is the angel’s preference, and though most of the demon’s higher mental processes have shut down, he knows he’ll keep moving his hips if it kills him, keep pushing, in and out and in and out against the spot inside Aziraphale’s body that will make him see the brightest stars, and then, at last – the angel is shivering apart in his arms, coming hard with a cry that’s almost a sob, clenching around him – and Crowley is done for. He lets go, lets it all go, curses into the back of the angel’s neck as his orgasm thrums, tears through him, from the very core of him to the crest of his pounding ears and down to his tingling toes.

They fall back to the bed together, hot and breathless and a little sticky and – deliriously _giddy,_ for somebody’s sake, basking in the aftershocks of the same blinding pleasure. Aziraphale smiles like he’s the fucking sun itself as he turns around to envelop Crowley in his arms.

He pets the demon’s hair as they catch their breath. “Thank you,” he says, “I might… I might have needed—”

“Shut up,” Crowley replies, stopping Aziraphale’s soft, reddened lips from commenting any further by kissing them until they’re redder still.

“Hmm—” Aziraphale disentangles himself from Crowley’s grip, giggling, “let me—oh, you wily old serpent, let me speak, will you?”

“Fine,” Crowley says, rolling his eyes, “make it quick.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, and the demon’s stomach flips again at the sound of his name said _like that_. Aziraphale smiles, Aziraphale is fine again. Aziraphale will be fine as long as Crowley is there. That’s not even a promise: it’s a fact, because he will make it so. The angel breathes in to start speaking, looks at Crowley’s slight frown, and stops. He gives a little shrug, then a slight wiggle, and Crowley can tell he’s just decided to spare him an emotional, saccharine spiel, a declaration of love that would make him squirm in his skin. Instead, Aziraphale cups his cheeks in his hands, and says, “Good morning, darling.”

It’s about love. It’s about lust. It’s about giving and taking. It’s about letting go and letting oneself be known. It’s about caring, it’s about staying. It’s about a million other things Crowley’s not supposed to know about, much less practice, as a fallen angel.

But he does anyway, and he keeps falling a little more, every day. Though, this time, towards the light.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has a companion piece, also illustrated by Ing, called Something Stronger, which you can find [right here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22495858)! 🤍


End file.
